


Warm

by TeenSpiriT10



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Flu, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I just realized Miles is 13, Miles injured, Oneshot, Peter B. low-key a jerk sometimes, Peter B. takes care of him, Sick Miles Morales, Sickfic, a little plot, broken arm, he cares tho, he's so tiny, platonic, platonic fluff, rip Miles, throwing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 09:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18443735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeenSpiriT10/pseuds/TeenSpiriT10
Summary: Miles patrols despite having a nasty strain of the flu. Inevitably, something unfortunate happens.Peter B. decides to take care of him.





	Warm

**Author's Note:**

> OOO-OOOOOHH, SOME THINGS YOU JUST CANT REFUUUUUSSSE, SHE WANNA RIDE ME LIKE A—
> 
> Nah.
> 
> Guess what I just realized. Miles is THIRTEEN. And all this time I thought he was 14 and wrote him as 14. 
> 
> Shhhiiiit.
> 
> But it made me think,.. like Miles is literally like a frikin baby. He's so t i n y. I love him.
> 
> Anyway here's a one-shot cuz my other things are currently in progress so might as well put something
> 
> [Edited 12/21/19]

“So, uh,.. How's school, kid?"

Miles startled and faltered in his swings, and he softly cursed himself for it. It was something he should be used to, as he got calls almost every day, from at least someone in their oddball spider-group. Honestly, at this point it would be a cause for concern if he didn't get one.

He thought of something to say to the flickering, blue-ish grey hologram of Peter B coming from the teleportation device Peni gave him, but his efforts were more concentrated on containing the hacking bout of coughs in the back of his throat.

"Miles?" Peter's staticky voice spoke again. Miles hardly computed it though. Instead, he found himself grimacing at the munching noises of something coming in waves of static,.. pizza maybe?

It was distracting, and rather gross, just hearing the casual open smacking of his spider-coach.

There was a brief thought of recording said sounds and making a video titled "Peter ASMR".

_Maybe another time._

"Oh, it's getting better, making A's, some new friends, y'know..." the 13-year-old spider forced out of his itching, sore throat. He was very thankful for the mask. Masks hid things well.. Of course, that was the whole purpose of them anyway.

Peter nodded a short affirmative, searching blindly for his drink while keeping his eyes on the kid; he found it and took a large sip.

"Mmm,” hehummed after a moment, swallowing— "Anything more specific?"

Peter watched Miles' lenses grow in size with a small interest as he leaned back on his unkempt bed.

"Yeah, there is.."

He scooted forward visibly in the hologram.

"Spill," he urged, setting his drink down.

Miles rubbed at his neck with one hand and webbed Brooklyn skyscrapers with the other.

"There's this girl that I've been talking to... aaand, well, I think she's into me,” he explained slowly, smugly. Peter could tell the kid was smirking under his mask, eliciting a scoff from the elder man.

"Keyword _think,_ ” he pointed out with a snort and an eyeroll.

Miles narrowed his eyes at the derision, turning red under his mask. "Shut up Peter,” he muttered.

B couldn't help but laugh.

"Sorry," He sarcastically apologized, reaching a phasing hand out to pat Miles on the shoulder. Miles couldn't feel it, but offense was taken anyways. He stopped on the roof of a building, crossed his arms, and huffed in annoyance.

_Why was Peter such an asshole sometimes?_

Peter frowned at the turn of Miles's head, away from the screen and from him. He realized that he probably just made him upset and ran a hand through his hair guiltily. Why did he have to be so bad at this? The kid shared something personal and he basically crapped all over it.

He sighed, eyes growing softer. "Look, just be careful bud. Don't wanna go getting your heart broken, do you? Make sure that she really likes you before you make any moves."

Miles was quick to forgive, or more likely quick to drop his sulkiness for amusement at Peter's little piece of advice.

His smirk returned full-force.  
"You talking from experience? From being rejected?"

"Wh— No Miles, I'm talking from _common sense,_ " Peter B defended, pointing a holographic finger through to Miles' side.

Miles simply raised an eyebrow in that teenager-y way. It was hard to take him seriously with the state his apartment was in, though it was better than before at least— not to mention the string of cheese dangling loosely from his chin.

"Whatever, ma—"  
The rookie spider didn't have a chance to finish as a body racking fit of coughs overlapped his speech, left him gasping for air.

More soft curses, a few seconds of quiet.

Then, "What was that, bud?"

The elder spider was suddenly aware of the raspiness of the kid's voice, and the sloppiness in his rhythm, whereas the details had been disregarded before. A tiny concern nestled in his chest, there to stay, at least for the time being.

"Oh, I'm um,.. Just getting over a cold," Miles lied— he hoped it was convincing.

Peter was making direct eye-contact now. "You sure you're okay?" he questioned, deciding to press a bit.

Miles coughed again, short explosions of breath and phlegm that gripped his lungs with pain. It wasn't really helping his case.

"Yup. Never been better,” he claimed in a sarcastic cheer and took off for a swing with a rapid _thwip._

" _Mhmm_." B nodded slowly, "Alright, I gotta go Miles."

He shifted in the fuzzy image, grabbing something out of sight in the younger's view.

Miles' hologram flickered in sync with his chuckles. "To do what? Sit on your ass in your apartment?"

Peter pursed his lips and brought his mask into sight as he raised his eyebrows. "Watch it. You forget that I was Spider-Man before you were even _born_. I have my own patrols to do, kid."

Miles saw Peter tug on his mask and felt a little guilty for his comment.  
"Ok, ok, sorry man. I know. See you later."

"Yeah. See ya', kid."

He ended the call.

B scoffed, left alone in his own dimension and messy apartment, slumping back on his bed and crumpling up his mask in the process.

 _Teenagers_.

He didn't have the energy quite yet, to get the rest of his suit on, or do anything— but whatever. He would have to get up eventually. Just not right then. The man put his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. It stared back at him, without emotion. The particular pizza stain from when Peter was sucked into Miles' dimension nearly three months ago gave him a dirty glare— literally.

He should probably clean that up.

Nah.

But on the topic of said teen, Peter knew he was sick, and that bothered him to a degree. And no, he wasn't "getting over a cold", because that was obviously a lie. Miles was the easiest person to read Peter had ever met. But at the same time, one of the most stubborn. He should've told the kid to go home.

Peter decided to call Miles again, fiddling around with the goober on his wrist until it did what he wanted.

"Calling Miles,” it said in a calm voice, and proceeded to do so.

"The device you are trying to reach is turned off, impaired, or destroyed."

Peter B didn't register what it said immediately, more confused at why it was still talking to him.

Eventually, the words hit him.

"What?" He tried it again, glaring at its stupidly futuristic screen.

"Calling Miles,” it voiced again, ringing accordingly.

The same.

Peter ran a hand down his face, looking at the thing with disbelief. Of all the times to stop working. Though it could be right, and Miles' goober really could have something wrong with it.

Scenarios ran through his head, and he groaned, long and frustrated. He found the energy to put on his suit, losing his balance and tripping on the boot part. He hit his face, hard, on his nightstand. The resulting yelp of pain probably woke up some of his neighbors, but that wasn't important at the moment.

He got up and told the thing to take him to Miles' last location. It gave a shrill electronic chirp in response, shooting open a portal consisting of swirling blues, purples, reds, and a void-like black. Peter B stepped foward with a roll of his neck and a sigh, and exited his world, leaving his apartment empty.

* * *

Miles felt relief wash over him as soon as Peter disappeared, signalling the end of the call.

He hoarsely said “finally” in Spanish, biting back a cough. He ignored the wheezing that came every time he breathed and searched for crime below. So far, none.

Attaching a line of web to a particularly tall skyscraper, he ran across the side of his current building and did a complicated set of flips that sent him reeling.

"Shit! Bad idea.." he cursed and held his stomach with his free hand. It shot bile straight up his throat, and the burning and the nausea suddenly became all too much to handle.

Miles tried to steady himself, to no avail. Diziness spread through his head, making it warm and fuzzy and black, and from there his body spiralled out of control. He barely registered the fact that he just passed out before he collided with the ground, too late to stop his plummet. The sharp crack spiked a horrible, searing pain through his arm. He screamed, gritting his teeth— they found his cheeks and bit, drawing out blood. It brought him to gag and spit, and inevitably to puke a grotesque reminder of his breakfast that morning.

Finished, at least for the time being, Miles wiped his mouth and teary eyes with his good arm, and rested his head against the dull brick wall.

He didn't get to sleep for long.

"...les! Miles!"

_Peter?_

The young spider found himself face-to-face with a blurry, black-dot surrounded image of his mentor. He blinked, opened his eyes once more to think that they had decieved him, but the hand on his back that offered distant comfort as he threw up again proved otherwise.

The first thing Peter did was check his forehead. Miles flinched at the contact of the back of Peter's hand; he relaxed into it somewhat when he found it was a welcome degree of cold.

His mentor swore. The curses blurred together and became almost intelligible, trying to get through the thick barrier of his headache, though he knew it had something to do with his temperature. Personally, Miles felt freezing now.

That would be the chills.

Next came the inspection of his arm. Its twisted state produced the same reaction.

Miles didn't catch B's warning until he was hoisted up. His arm didn't like that. Neither did he, but he had no choice in the matter.

Where Peter was swinging to, cautious of his arm, he didn't know. Didn't care. Being awake meant pain, and pain was bad. And his pounding headache was a powerful convincer, telling him to close his eyes. He obliged, inviting the sleep that followed.

* * *

"AHH! WH— PETER!!"

Miles shot up out of bed, wait, _bed?_ only to be pushed back down into his drenched pillow.

"Hey, wait. Take it easy, kid,” Peter B said in between bursts of laughter.

The kid scowled deeply, head pounding and arm aching, though now it was in a web sling of some sort. It wasn't just his arm that ached, there was this whole body-wide syncronized ache going on, and frankly it sucked.

Peter B cackled, head thrown back, holding a water bottle now three quarters empty.

Miles raggedly coughed, curling in slightly to ease the pain in his chest. His face was drenched, though he had to admit it felt nice. Didn't make the rude awakening any less annoying.

"What the hell, man?!" he yelled in full exasperation and sat up with sporadic coughs. Peter threw him a towel that hit him square on the face.

"Y'know, you really should be asking yourself that."

He stopped drying his face and gave the elder spider an icy glare.

B scoffed at the kid. Returning the look with his own, the elder Spider-Man leaned against the wall with crossed arms.

Miles held his glare.

"What?" Peter B approached Miles, pointing a finger at him, "You knew you were this sick and still went out. Spider-Men aren't invincible, Miles. What if you broke more than just your arm? Actually, hold on,... you did."

He held up Miles' broken communicator, which had previously been on his even more broken arm.

Miles groaned at the sight of it. Well, he could say goodbye to dimensional travel for a while.

Peter closed the distance between them, shaking his head. "What were you even thinking?"

The kid bowed his head at the scolding, finally breaking eye contact. He didn't have much in the way of defense, but..

"I didn't break my arm! It... _Broke_. I'm fine, ok? It'll heal, right?"

Peter's hand met his stubbly face with a slap for a ceremony known as the "face-palm".

"Ok, just.. 102 degree fever does not equal fine, bud. Like, its the total, complete opposite of fine."

Miles tried to say something. He coughed instead. Peter didn't miss the wheezes in between.

"You took my temperature while I was asleep? What'd you do? Open my mouth? That's weird, man."

_A flat look from Peter B._

"Ok.." Miles was suddenly struck by a creeping shiver. He bundled up in his blanket which covered most of his face except for his eyes.

"Where'd you even get the thermometer?" he asked as an afterthought.

"I bought it."

At this, Miles wondered how long he had been out, while simultaniously giving the hobo-like man a look of disbelief.

"..I don't steal, Miles." Peter told him, catching onto what the teen was saying with his eyes.

Miles nodded. "Oh yeah, I know. I believe you."

He didn’t.

"Wait." he finally got a good, focused look around the quiet room, "Are we in my school dorm room? How did you even get here?"

There was a brief moment of thankfulness on Miles' side that it was Saturday, meaning the dorms were empty.

 _Tap, tap._ Peter touched his finger to his temple, smirking.

"Good memory." he answered.

"Oh....." Miles drew in a breath, "Alright. Well, I'm gonna go home now."

"Not with that arm, you can't. If your parents see you with that today and see you healed the next, you can kiss your secret identity goodbye."

There was a brief few seconds in which Miles realized that Peter's words made a good point. One that would prevent him from leaving to the sweet hobo-less comfort of his home.

"Aw, _c'moooon_." The dramatics took the spotlight now, with Miles' longer than necessary groan, throwing his head back in such an exaggerated way that Peter felt it would detach from his neck.

He found his place back against the wall, eyeing the kid.

"Well, kid, not like I'd let you go anywhere anyways,” he told him matter-of-factly.

This earned him a response consisting of an gaping open-mouthed stare, a hybrid of confusion and annoyance.

"What do you mean? You can't keep me here, Peter,” the teen said, rolling his eyes that were shadowed by furrowed eyebrows.

"You're not exactly in a state to go anywhere, kiddo."

Miles jumped up to argue; he was prepared to dropkick his mentor if he had to. Shock him, maybe.

Ok, not that far.

But still.

Unfortunately for him, his stomach begged to differ. A lurch, and then it was burning in his throat, making its way to his mouth. The kid cupped his hands over it, taking deep breaths.

" _Shit_. Miles, are you.."

A quick nod, accompanied by a wince inducing choke sound.

Tears spilled over his cheeks— God, it hurt. He knew that yes, it would feel better once it was over with, once the contents were expelled, but he was scared. Throwing up wasn't fun. Ever.

His sickness won the battle. It left Miles panicking, looking for a place to puke. Instead of the nearby trashcan, the window was the choice of the day, thrust open in a haste so that the sick spider could upchuck whatever was left in his stomach. It wasn't much.

Soon he was dry-heaving, and crying because of the pain and the sweat and his arm that throbbed every damn movement he made.

Peter's hand was on his back again, firmly. He cussed and sighed, grimaced as he hoped no one below was hit by an incoming puddle of vomit. He comforted Miles through it sympathetically, though not in words. The kid probably wouldn't be able to hear him that well over the sounds of his own retching anyway.

"I.. hate this..." Miles complained in a misery that had Peter feeling, in a way, the same.

"Yeah. I know, bud. Here."

Miles wiped his mouth and took the new outstretched water bottle from Peter gratefully. The majority of it was used to wash his mouth out, this time he wisely used the trashcan to spit into. He shivered after he used the rest to drink, pouting and feeling terrible, achy and all things bad.

Miles retreated to his bed and wrapped up. Defeated by the flu. At least, he was pretty sure it was the flu.

The first sneeze caught him off guard, spewing snot all over his blanket.

_Nooooo..._

Then there was a second sneeze,  

A third. Fourth and fifth, in succession. Sneeze number 6 was lost, a no show. The 13-year-old wrinkled his snotty nose up in annoyance, coughed, and then sneezed. He wheezed, curling in on himself.

This sucked.

He flinched as, suddenly, a box of tissues flew at him and barely missed his head. He scowled at the attacker, though was secretly thankful as he glared and wiped his nose and blanket.

Peter B. smiled crookedly. Much to Miles' annoyance, he occupied the swiveling computer chair that belonged to his roommate Ganke, and did a small childish spin.

"I'm f-fr-eezing.." Miles whined after a particularly harsh chill.

Peter's smile disappeared. The frown that took its place was of concern. It had been a while since he'd checked the temperature of his younger spider counterpart. Chills could only mean it was rising.

He pulled the instrument out of his coat pocket and held it up into view. Miles quickly shook his head in protest. Peter scoffed, raised his eyebrows and nodded, as if to say "yup."

"Fine. Lemme do it,” Miles finally said, holding out his hand. B gave it to him, but not without reminding him to put it under his tongue.

Miles couldn't roll his eyes further back into his head at that.

"I'm not like, 3, Peter," he said around it. Predictably, the janky old man hushed him.

He grumbled and crossed his eyes trying to look at the reading on the little thing. He couldn't see it, and he grew impatient and sweaty because the beeps were rather frequent. Probably because his fever was back to really bite him in the ass.

When it did its final beep Peter snatched it away too fast for Miles to see.

Said spider made a sneaky grab for it, but his mentor dodged easily.

"Hey!!" he yelled.

Not exactly good for his voice.

"No, hey- no." Peter took Ganke's pillow and replaced Miles' wet one with it, before pushing the kid down onto his bed and rudely snatching his last source of warmth: his blanket.

"Peter!!" Miles protested, which was a mistake. Even the little amount of air lost in protest left him wheezing and dizzy.

B Parker shook his head sadly.  
"I'm sorry, but you're burning up, kiddo. Just.. Relax, okay?"

Miles sighed, trying to until he coughed and clenched his sheets, riding out the pain.

"What is it?" he got around to ask.

Peter frowned. "103.2, Miles. Whatever this is,.. probably flu... it's really hitting you hard."

The kid cringed at the news and sunk into his friend's pillow. At this point in time he didn't really care.

"I really am sick..." he mused through his failing voice. Actually, his whole body was failing him.

His mentor quirked an eyebrow. "Ya' think??"

He plopped down a cloth onto Miles' forehead, wetted by another water from the 12 pack of water bottles he had carried up here from the nearby convenience shop.

 _Desini_ , the plastic read.  
This universe's version of Dasani.

It annoyed Peter, but only a little bit.

Ok, yeah. It annoyed him a lot.

Miles shivered and tried to take the cloth off. His hand was slapped away and he let out a high-pitched whine that B had to refrain from laughing at.

He dug around in his coat for something else, grasping at things until he found the right shape and heard the right rattle.

A bottle of **Adfille**.

Seriously?

B poured three into his hand. He decided that should be enough for a kid Miles' age.

"Miles. C'mon, sit up."

The kid looked up with half-lidded eyes as he obliged, not even registering when the cloth fell off, too distracted with his coughing when he took them from Peter.

Patting his back, the elder spider waited for him to finish, and gave him some water to down them with.

The sick teenager took the pills with caution. He wasn't really keen on choking or accidentally tasting them.

"Drink all of that." Peter B pointed to the half empty water bottle in Miles' hand.

In return, Miles gave him the flattest, most "really?" teenager look he had ever seen and set the water down.

"Screw you, Pete. I'm takin' my blanket, and I'm going to sleep."

"Nope. Not yet."

B reached Miles' discarded blanket first and wrapped it around himself with a smirk.

_That was the last straw._

Miles was literally on the brink of throwing down with this janky ass, sweatpants mismatched-shoe wearing, broke hobo Spider-Man.

"Your fever's gotta go down, bud. And the fact that you're up and probably dehydrated as hell isn't helping."

Peter's words rang true, but all Miles wanted to do was sleep. He made one last futile grab for the blanket with his good arm, huffed in frustration when he missed, and dejectedly went to drink the rest of his water.

His bed welcomed him again when he fell onto it dramatically, which would've been a very bad idea if he was still nauseated.

He saw the nod from his spider-teacher out of his peripheral and pouted; he hated that he had to take orders when he could just be sleeping.  
The cloth was placed back on his head, newly damp and soothing. So much so that he almost did fall asleep, until he heard loud rustling noises in the background.

"Peter? What are you.. H-hey! Get outta my stuff, man!"

Peter ignored him, still rustling. He found what he wanted— a large black medicine bag— and proceeded to sift through it. He found what he wanted out of that, and sloshed the bottle around in his hand.

"Haha, ok, there's no way in hell you're getting me to take that,” Miles informed him with a laugh, which resulted in another coughing fit.

"Sounds like you need it, kid."

He began to pour the "orange flavored" cough syrup into a little measuring cup, not really caring about doing the exact measurements. Not like a tiny bit more could kill.

"Sit up, Miles,” he ordered, putting on his "I'm the teacher so listen" voice.

"I'm good."

Clicking his tongue, Peter set the gross liquid down and moved to the boy's side.

Miles squawked in embarrassment as he was sat up like a little kid against his will.

B raised the cup slowly and held it with two fingers for the kid to take. Miles tightly pursed his lips, turning his head to the side.

" _Christ_ , Miles, just.. You're acting like a child. C'mon."

Miles smirked, it was a bit odd with his lips closed as tightly as they were, but still a smirk. "Jokes on you, you forget I'm 13,” he retorted, muffled.

Peter feigned deep confusion at the words. "Really? You are? I thought you were 12."

"Oh that hurts, man— HEY!"

The elder Spider-Man rapidly tipped the medicine into Miles' mouth once it was open enough.

Miles swallowed, surprised, and started sputtering.

"Eww!!" he screeched, truly dying on the inside.

He couldn't believe that he had been tricked so easily. Couldn't believe the absolute _betrayal_.

"I hate you, man,” he said and punctuated that claim with a stink eye.

Peter simply shrugged, setting the cup aside.

He handed Miles back his blanket, smiling at the kid's reaction.

Miles snatched it from him, bundling up into a cocoon. Peter wondered how he did that with his arm sling.

"Well, maybe not as much now. But, still,” Miles added on to his earlier claim, yawning with a trailing wheeze.

The kid closed his eyes, and this time, Peter let him sleep. He felt his forehead, still hot, but low enough.

He didn't miss the near silent "Thanks Peter", breathy and wheezy but comfortable. And then there was nothing but deep, peaceful breaths on the kid's part.

Peter B. smiled, warm, and turned off the lights.

"Yeah. You're welcome, kid."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm too lazy rn to do these notes rn
> 
> It's kinda sloppy I know, but whatever   
> Plz alert me of mistakes and all that jazz
> 
> Kudos and comments r good


End file.
